polishing a broken heart
by admiring the otherside
Summary: completely irrelevant title. haaa. anyways. royai 100 themes. my first take on it. r&r please!
1. 001 military personnel

**Author's Note**:** yuppers, i finally decided to have a go at this. i'm going to try writing something for every single theme, and i'm going to do them in order. x) -is too ambitious- i'll prolly split into five twenty chapter pieces, just so that i don't have to force people to read one hundred things at once. :3 i might give up halfway through, but i'll try not too, 'kays?**

**Disclaimer**: **i don't own fullmetal alchemist. only going to say this in the first chapter, due to sheer laziness. i can't be stuffed to post it at the top of every piece.**

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001. Military Personnel

He found it curious how oblivious they all were to the situation. Tapping his pen thoughtfully against the desk, he frowned at nothing in particular, his dark eyes glazed. Was it not obvious then? If so, then everything was good and comfortable. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was happening; nothing was out of the ordinary… oh for crying out loud. How could it NOT be obvious? He messed up his paperwork - when he actually did it - because he was thinking about it. Thinking about _her_. He stared at her too. Yes, he _stared_ at her. How pathetic.

"Sir?"

The tone of her voice was prompt enough. Throwing her a feigned look of exasperation, he began to busily scribble down meaningless words on pieces of paper which would then be filed, proof read, sanctioned then filed again. He didn't really mind today. There were many things Roy knew about military personnel.

- - -

That evening, 2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc and 2nd Lieutenant Heymans Breda were leaving the HQ, minds set on a wandering into a random bar and getting a phone number from a pretty girl. However, as they were approaching Havoc's car, they were talking about something completely different. They were laughing quietly, discussing how amusing it was that the Colonel thought they didn't know. His constant glances at Lieutenant Hawkeye were proof enough. The look in his eyes was proof enough.

There are many things Roy didn't know about military personnel.


	2. 002 gunshot

**Author's Note**: **A fluffy drabble. x)**

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002. Gunshot

In the darkness, he traces what remains of the circle on her back. His fingers work gently against her skin, taking care not to wake her. Though she stirs every so often, she doesn't wake; calm and silence remains harboured in a port of warmth and safety. His fingers leave her skin momentarily as he shifts his arm and wraps it around her middle. Her body is warm against his, and her hair smells of soap. He used to think she'd smell of firearms, but she doesn't. Her scent is sweet and comforting. As he drifts into sleep, still gripping her tightly, the sound of every single gunshot he's ever heard fades away, replaced with her voice, urging him to sleep, and to dream. So he does.


	3. 003 battlefield

**Author's Note**:** this one isn't very romantic. it's more of a remembering session kind of thing. ha. anyway, just to say in advance, most of these will be short drabbles. i'm better at writing them than i am at writing a series. people get bored with my series fics. **

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003. Battlefield

The battlefield was once a place she thought she'd be able to forget. All of her naivety had hidden the possibilities that the battlefield was going to forever be a part of her memories. Riza hates think about the battlefield. She hates thinking of the times that were so difficult to process, the numerous lives she took just by simply squeezing the trigger. It hurts to think about it.

She closes her eyes for a brief second, before opening them again. The glazed, tired look has left them, replaced with her wary conviviality. They meet with Roy's, their gaze stretching out across the space between them. They acknowledge each others thoughts and then get on with their work. The battlefield is place they both hate, a place they wish to leave behind. The battlefield was their stage, and now it feels like their background.


	4. 007 crime and punishment

**Author's Note: This one took half an hour to write. It's really quite depressing, I think. According to my friends, it's quite good, but then again, friends are supposed to say that, aren't they? As I wrote this note, I was firmly assured that it is indeed very good. I like it. It's cute. But really, really depressing. **

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007. Crime and Punishment 

He hates this. It's quite literally agony. Watching her makes his insides churn and throat sore – though how he could feel this, he didn't know. He thinks that if he has anything in his stomach (if he still has a stomach, that is) that he will be sick soon. Maybe it's the transition…? Whatever this is, he thinks, it's torture. What has he done to deserve this? Actually, thinking about it, he cringes, realising that there was a lot he'd done to deserve this. He can hear her opening the front door, but he doesn't move. Vaguely, he wonders why, if this is so painful for him, he's doing it. He doesn't yet understand why he's choosing to loiter around, as if he could say something to her to change things and make them right.

She comes into the living room, her eyes blank and emotionless. He shifts, knowing that he's sitting in the place where she usually does. As expected, she wanders over, collapsing onto the sofa, her honey blonde hair looking as soft and tangled as he remembers it from the mornings. He wants to reach out and touch her hair, touch her cheek, tell her everything was going to be alright. He can't. It won't change anything. It won't make it _better_.

When she starts crying is when Roy decides he can't take it anymore. He pushes himself up and away from the sofa, stalking out into the hallway. There he begins to pace, running his hand continually through his hair. He's frustrated. He doesn't know what he can do. He's Roy Mustang, for crying out loud. He's supposed to know what to do. He's supposed to be able to work something out in the spur of the moment.

He reflects. He's isn't Roy Mustang. He _was_ Roy Mustang. He isn't anymore. He hasn't been for at least the past week. It's strange, being who he is now. It's unnatural. Then again, being dead is never natural for anyone.

Riza has also come into the hallway now. Roy starts; she's staring straight at him. Can she…? Is he…? No. No, he's standing in front of the mirror. Roy turns. His reflection isn't in the mirror. Only Riza's is. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, and her eyes are outlined with crimson. He hates this. Roy moves away, ending up in her bedroom. He's spent many memorable nights here, he remembers, and the memories almost make him smile. But this isn't the time to start smiling, so he doesn't.

He hears Riza utter another choked sob. It is then that he realises what is plaguing him. He realises what is making him stay here. He understands what he did to deserve this. He only ever said it to her once. How foolish. Once is never enough times to tell her. He should have told her over and over and over. He never told her he loved her enough. Never. Roy buries his face in his hands.

That was his crime, and this is his punishment.


End file.
